


Time to play

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Michael (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent never stated, Dean in Heat, M/M, Omega Dean, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Roleplay, Spitroasting, noncon roleplay, or rather Dean in pre-heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 06:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Walking home through the forest at night was supposed to be the safer option.





	Time to play

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for SPN Kink Bingo, for the square: Noncon Roleplay  
> Consider this your warning that it's never made clear that's what's going on and as such proceed with caution if you find this kind of content triggering. That said, despite it never being explicitedly stated, everything in this fic is pre-negotiated and agreed to.
> 
> Comments, kudos, constructive critism and _title suggestions_ are more than welcome.

It’s a little before midnight and the world’s shrouded in darkness. The rustling of leaves making sounds like footsteps behind him and every shadow seemingly occupied by an axe murderer, a monster, or something equally maliciously intended. Subconsciously he picks up his pace, his stomach a tight knot of fear amplified by the unfamiliar sounds of the darkened forest around him.

Dean hates going home through the forest, but it’s three miles shorter than taking the road and as he’s exhausted from his last finals he’d wanted to get home as fast as possible. Not to mention the fact that his heat is only a few days away thus making the walk seem like the safer option anyway. Now, though, he’s not as sure with the feeling of somebody (some _thing_ ) watching him from the shadows.

A branch breaks somewhere to his right, making him stop and turn his head trying to see through the darkness. A few, endless minutes where all he can hear is the wind in the leaves and his own labored breath; when he starts moving he’s no longer walking but running, even as he’s telling himself there’s nobody there, it’s all just his imagination playing tricks on him.

What Dean doesn’t see is two dots of whiteness among the shadowy colors of the trees, doesn’t notice the silent footfall in sync with his own, doesn’t smell the other person before it’s too late and a large hand holding a filthy rag is covering his mouth and nose.

The first thing filtering through is voices, words that sound distorted and don’t hold any meaning to him. Secondly is a rush of panic as he opens his eyes and is met with nothing but blackness; he squirms against the hold on his legs, trying to lift his hands to his face but they’re trapped between his own body and whatever he’s hanging over  
_a body_ the less panicked part of his brain supplies _somebody large and strong enough to carry you on their shoulder_. The less panicked part of his brain is hurriedly becoming the most panicked and Dean almost manages to kick his way off of whoever is carrying him.

A deep voice moving closer, words he’s still not capable of deciphering followed by a hand on his neck, another body pressing him closer to the one he’s hanging from. The scent of _alpha_ surrounds him, the stench of lust overwhelming and even as his body’s reacting to it he can feel the way his stomach clenches in fear of what’s to come.

He’s none too gently hoisted from the shoulder to the ground, his feet only making contact long enough for his captors to rip off his clothes before pushing him down onto all fours. The wind’s cold against his overheated skin; dirt, rocks and sticks digging uncomfortably into his knees and the palms of his hands. There are no sounds beyond the rustle of leaves and the distant hooting of an owl emphasizing how alone he is, how no one can even hear him scream. The thought barely crossed his mind before proven right as something’s forcefully shoved all the way inside him.

There are words again  
_’bitch’s a screamer, Cassie’_  
that still don’t make sense to him, too lost in his body’s need to stay and his own to get away from the intrusion  
_’then shut him up before he wakes the whole country, Mike’_  
his efforts countered by hands on his face, fingers forcing his mouth open, something warm and rigid working its way down his throat making him gag, making it difficult to breathe. There’s nowhere to go trapped between two bodies except for where their movements are making him go, rigid flesh driven even deeper as if trying to meet somewhere inside Dean, his treacherous body opening wide to accommodate them while he’s trying to get any kind of leverage to push the one in front of him away.

Fire burns in the pit of his stomach in a heady mixture of shame and lust fueled need: the realization that he can’t get free and the increasingly wet squelch around the flesh moving in him. Tears gathering behind his eyelids trapped beneath the piece of fabric tied around his head as he gives in to the inevitable.  
By the time they begin to grow even larger Dean feels as if he’s been rubbed raw, his knees and palms throbbing with the beat of his heart and his jaw aching where his mouth is still held open. They’ve stopped talking, the only sound their harsh breaths and loud grunts as they slam closer, deeper; before they still entirely for a split second before bursting, flooding him with their release. There’s no other choice than to take everything he’s given, to swallow around the flesh in his throat to keep breathing, to clench down on the knot and milk the alpha for everything he has.

~

Dean blinks awake slowly when he hears the bedroom door opening. There’s a warm body pressed against his back and the smell of pancakes wafting through the air that convinces him to open his eyes. The sight of Cas with his sleep ruffled sex hair and a tray with coffee and breakfast for the three of them has a smile break across his face and tilt his head in silent invitation for a kiss he’s granted as soon as Cas is within reach.  
Saturday mornings are the best.


End file.
